


Home (is Where the Heart is)

by firstbreaths



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/pseuds/firstbreaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lily just wishes she could go home for Christmas. James has another idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home (is Where the Heart is)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lazyisatalent as part of the Jily Secret Santa on tumblr in December 2012.

“We can’t go home for Christmas, Lily,” James says as the two of them collapse into the lounge at his flat, Lily wincing slightly as she avoids sitting on a handful of crumbled crisps. Her boyfriend and Sirius live like such sodding bachelors, no matter how many times she ends up spending the night at Godric’s Hollow. There’s still a suspicious stain on the carpet that no amount of cleaning potions will remove, and they haven’t even put up a Christmas tree since that time Sirius had transformed and accidentally torn his paw on a particularly sharp ornamental star. “Following the rules is to the Marauders as a good shag is to a Slytherin- not always a particularly pleasant experience on either end – but this is one time I’m willing to listen to Dumbledore. ‘Sides, it’s not like you actually _want_ to listen to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer now that you know the exact number of factual inaccuracies that song contains about my kind. Muggle carols…”

“Even a basic levitating charm couldn’t actually keep Santa in the air that long, I know. I just wish you’d saved that particular tidbit for your Charms NEWT, or something, rather than almost telling my Great Uncle Fergus that your family actually owns a house elf.” Lily laughs though, plants a quick kiss on his cheek. She doesn’t want the things that James complains about, not in the slightest, but it’s hard for her to explain. Hogwarts was their home, together, and without it, Lily longs for the family who loved her long before James came into her life. For the familiarity, the security – all the things that James gives so freely, a fact that often makes her even more afraid. This is a war, now, she can’t –

ames’ arm is around her shoulders and his breath warm against her ear, though, reminding her of trips to the beach as a child, the way the ocean whistled through the seashells as a constant reminder: the world was a bigger, and better place than she could know. It’s the same feeling she’d had when she’d first discovered magic, and when she’d first discovered James – although now, she’s learning. With the great beauty of the unknown comes a form of terror more difficult to pronounce than any spell, a name she still sometimes struggles to work her mouth around.

“I just wish…” she says quietly, resting her head against James chest, “and that’s it, isn’t it? Christmas is about the star on top of the tree, the wish for another year. Some days I’m surprised we even saw this one through.”

ldquo;That’s exactly why we can’t - you know that. This isn’t just Sirius being reprimanded for charming the grass on the Quidditch pitch to suddenly turn red and gold when the Slytherins practiced.”

“I _knew_ that was him. Remus’ skill lay much more in Herbology, and the pitch looked a sickly yellow for weeks,” Lily replies, but she laughs, anyway  - it had been a harmless joke, just like so many other things had once been harmless, graduating, accepting an invitation to join the Order, growing up. Apparently not being able to go home to her family for Christmas is just another side effect. They can’t risk exposing the Muggles, Dumbledore says. But they can damn well risk exposing their own necks, apparently, like that’s not too much to ask.

It’s a moment of weakness she once never would have admitted, especially to James Potter.

James, however, just silences her with a kiss. “We can,” he says, quietly, “and that’s why we must. Your sister, your family, all the people you want to spend Christmas with, they can’t fight, and yet they are at the mercy of Voldemort. That’s why I’m doing this, and that’s why you’re doing this. We’re doing this Lily.”

“We’re doing this,” Lily repeats, once, twice, and she’s about to repeat it again, because that’s how the words work, like the home she so desperately wants to visit for Christmas, there’s a sense of familiarity that comes from patterns, from routines. It’s very much like the familiar routine of loving James, of running her hand through his hair in the mornings and kissing him long and tender on the doorstep, his mouth pressed to hers until they’re red like a Muggle stop sign, _never stop loving me_. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this,” James affirms, and they’re quiet for a moment, the only noise coming from the kitchen as the dishes slosh about in the sink before zooming into the cupboard. That’s a new spell James has learnt, taught to him by Lily a few weeks ago, and so it shouldn’t be such a surprise when his next words are –

“Move in with me?”

Lily blinks, James grabbing at her hands and clasping them together, their bodies shifting closer together on the couch. His palms are clammy to touch, and it’s the nervousness that does it, for her, because what do they have to be nervous about here, really? They’re already fighting a war, already being restricted from visiting their own families. James is wide-eyed and earnest as he pulls his hands away with an apologetic grin, running them through his hand, and the familiar gesture makes Lily smile as she leans in, punctuating her words with quick sharp kisses. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Why now – but yes.”

“You know how to make a bloke feel like he’s made a good choice, Lily Evans,” James replies. “I just – why not? You’re here all the time, and I know it’s not the same, wouldn’t presume to think that it was because if I did I already know I’d have Remus telling me that I cocked it up, but I just wanted you to feel like you had another home where you could celebrate Christmas. It’s not much, but it’s something, a place we could both come home to. You could come home to. With me.” James stands up, hurrying around the lounge room and waving his wand with a small smile on his face as a wreath of mistletoe appears in the doorway and the furniture is draped with tinsel. Lily stands slowly and watches as the entire room transforms around her, with James in the centre of it, smiling sunshine bright at Christmas tree that’s slowly growing in the corner. Just like -

“ Not that – we might have to let Sirius trespass a little this Christmas, because it doesn’t seem appropriately festive to let him go now, but what’s a little dog hair in the pudding again and blimey – “

In two short strides, Lily crosses the room, moving to cup James’ jaw as she kisses him. His mouth is sweet and warm as it moves against hers, and she lets her hands move to tangle in the back of his hair, pulling him closer. James drops his wand in shock, letting it clatter to the ground near their feet, his hands coming to rest at her waist, fitting to her curves like they’ve always belonged there. Lily just kisses him deeper, because really – kissing James, knowing so much about him and yet still having so much more to learn, the familiarity with which their bodies move, that feels a little like home, too.

For a moment, it’s all too easy to pretend that they’ll both be safe inside it.

“We can’t go home for Christmas, Lily,” James says as the two of them collapse into the lounge at his flat, Lily wincing slightly as she avoids sitting on a handful of crumbled crisps. Her boyfriend and Sirius live like such sodding bachelors, no matter how many times she ends up spending the night at Godric’s Hollow. There’s still a suspicious stain on the carpet that no amount of cleaning potions will remove, and they haven’t even put up a Christmas tree since that time Sirius had transformed and accidentally torn his paw on a particularly sharp ornamental star. “Following the rules is to the Marauders as a good shag is to a Slytherin- not always a particularly pleasant experience on either end – but this is one time I’m willing to listen to Dumbledore. ‘Sides, it’s not like you actually _want_ to listen to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer now that you know the exact number of factual inaccuracies that song contains about my kind. Muggle carols…”

“Even a basic levitating charm couldn’t actually keep Santa in the air that long, I know. I just wish you’d saved that particular tidbit for your Charms NEWT, or something, rather than almost telling my Great Uncle Fergus that your family actually owns a house elf.” Lily laughs though, plants a quick kiss on his cheek. She doesn’t want the things that James complains about, not in the slightest, but it’s hard for her to explain. Hogwarts was their home, together, and without it, Lily longs for the family who loved her long before James came into her life. For the familiarity, the security – all the things that James gives so freely, a fact that often makes her even more afraid. This is a war, now, she can’t –

ames’ arm is around her shoulders and his breath warm against her ear, though, reminding her of trips to the beach as a child, the way the ocean whistled through the seashells as a constant reminder: the world was a bigger, and better place than she could know. It’s the same feeling she’d had when she’d first discovered magic, and when she’d first discovered James – although now, she’s learning. With the great beauty of the unknown comes a form of terror more difficult to pronounce than any spell, a name she still sometimes struggles to work her mouth around.

“I just wish…” she says quietly, resting her head against James chest, “and that’s it, isn’t it? Christmas is about the star on top of the tree, the wish for another year. Some days I’m surprised we even saw this one through.”

ldquo;That’s exactly why we can’t - you know that. This isn’t just Sirius being reprimanded for charming the grass on the Quidditch pitch to suddenly turn red and gold when the Slytherins practiced.”

“I _knew_ that was him. Remus’ skill lay much more in Herbology, and the pitch looked a sickly yellow for weeks,” Lily replies, but she laughs, anyway  - it had been a harmless joke, just like so many other things had once been harmless, graduating, accepting an invitation to join the Order, growing up. Apparently not being able to go home to her family for Christmas is just another side effect. They can’t risk exposing the Muggles, Dumbledore says. But they can damn well risk exposing their own necks, apparently, like that’s not too much to ask.

It’s a moment of weakness she once never would have admitted, especially to James Potter.

James, however, just silences her with a kiss. “We can,” he says, quietly, “and that’s why we must. Your sister, your family, all the people you want to spend Christmas with, they can’t fight, and yet they are at the mercy of Voldemort. That’s why I’m doing this, and that’s why you’re doing this. We’re doing this Lily.”

“We’re doing this,” Lily repeats, once, twice, and she’s about to repeat it again, because that’s how the words work, like the home she so desperately wants to visit for Christmas, there’s a sense of familiarity that comes from patterns, from routines. It’s very much like the familiar routine of loving James, of running her hand through his hair in the mornings and kissing him long and tender on the doorstep, his mouth pressed to hers until they’re red like a Muggle stop sign, _never stop loving me_. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this,” James affirms, and they’re quiet for a moment, the only noise coming from the kitchen as the dishes slosh about in the sink before zooming into the cupboard. That’s a new spell James has learnt, taught to him by Lily a few weeks ago, and so it shouldn’t be such a surprise when his next words are –

“Move in with me?”

Lily blinks, James grabbing at her hands and clasping them together, their bodies shifting closer together on the couch. His palms are clammy to touch, and it’s the nervousness that does it, for her, because what do they have to be nervous about here, really? They’re already fighting a war, already being restricted from visiting their own families. James is wide-eyed and earnest as he pulls his hands away with an apologetic grin, running them through his hand, and the familiar gesture makes Lily smile as she leans in, punctuating her words with quick sharp kisses. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Why now – but yes.”

“You know how to make a bloke feel like he’s made a good choice, Lily Evans,” James replies. “I just – why not? You’re here all the time, and I know it’s not the same, wouldn’t presume to think that it was because if I did I already know I’d have Remus telling me that I cocked it up, but I just wanted you to feel like you had another home where you could celebrate Christmas. It’s not much, but it’s something, a place we could both come home to. You could come home to. With me.” James stands up, hurrying around the lounge room and waving his wand with a small smile on his face as a wreath of mistletoe appears in the doorway and the furniture is draped with tinsel. Lily stands slowly and watches as the entire room transforms around her, with James in the centre of it, smiling sunshine bright at Christmas tree that’s slowly growing in the corner. Just like -

“ Not that – we might have to let Sirius trespass a little this Christmas, because it doesn’t seem appropriately festive to let him go now, but what’s a little dog hair in the pudding again and blimey – “

In two short strides, Lily crosses the room, moving to cup James’ jaw as she kisses him. His mouth is sweet and warm as it moves against hers, and she lets her hands move to tangle in the back of his hair, pulling him closer. James drops his wand in shock, letting it clatter to the ground near their feet, his hands coming to rest at her waist, fitting to her curves like they’ve always belonged there. Lily just kisses him deeper, because really – kissing James, knowing so much about him and yet still having so much more to learn, the familiarity with which their bodies move, that feels a little like home, too.

For a moment, it’s all too easy to pretend that they’ll both be safe inside it.


End file.
